


Don't You Want More

by 1000Needles



Series: Hand Me My Leather [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10056749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000Needles/pseuds/1000Needles
Summary: Gladiolus Amicitia doesn't have many weaknesses. In most things, he aims for and achieves mastery. But he is helpless before Ignis's beauty. Consensual D/s and spoilers through Chapter 10.





	

Gladiolus Amicitia doesn't have many weaknesses. In most things, he aims for and achieves mastery. But he is helpless before Ignis's beauty.

It amazes him that he spent so many years without taking any notice, strutting around fully confident of his own good looks and charisma and failing to ever see what was right in front of his eyes. Maybe that's the way it goes when you grow up with someone. They'll always be a gangly scholar to you, until one day you find yourself face down on an office desk, getting your ass paddled eight new shades of purple.

He takes his coffee to the great room balcony and drinks it standing up, his seat bruised and aching from last night's thorough beating. Ignis is in the courtyard below, flirting with one of the Kingsglaives. His version of flirting, anyway, which involves little more than a cocked hip and a certain artful angle of the head. The other person usually takes care of the throwing themselves at him part.

Ignis Scientia is entirely aware that he's drop-dead gorgeous, and doesn't even try to hide it. That's the thing about kids who grow up plain, thinks Gladio. The ones who end up gorgeous are utterly shameless about flaunting it.

Ignis joins him a little while later, hands wrapped around a steaming mug. "Having fun?" Gladio inquires.

"Always." Ignis leans back, resting his shoulders and one boot heel against the wall. It's a studied pose, one that Gladio guesses is calculated to hide his tension. "I notice you're not sitting this morning."

"I'm fine," Gladio says, smiling. "Better than fine."

"Well, you certainly were begging for it." Ignis yawns and stretches. "And I gave in against my better judgment. Don't let me catch you complaining when we're on the road."

Noctis and Prompto are loading their luggage now. They already packed the car last night with Gladio's well-worn, much-loved camping gear, Ignis's pots and pans, and just a few changes of clothing, since they'll be in Altissia in a few days and will be able to buy whatever they need there. After they finished, Ignis did one last sweep of his office, checking that he hadn't forgotten anything. Gladio knelt on the floor, head lowered, patient. When Ignis was satisfied, he stopped in front of him and tipped his chin up with one long gloved finger.

"Choose," he said simply. "A beating, or you get to come."

Gladio didn't hesitate. It could be a long time before he gets the opportunity to bend over Ignis's desk again.

 

LOADING

 

It's only days later, in Galdin Quay, that he realizes just how long it might be.

They don't know anything except the few details gleaned from a terse account in the newspaper. Regis is dead. The Oracle is dead. Nyx is dead. All the Glaives are dead. His father is dead. He prays that Iris made it out of the city with Jared and his little grandson.

He's sitting at the end of the dock, face in his hands. He held it together for Noctis, but as soon as the prince fell asleep, exhausted with grief, Gladio fled for the water, someplace where the roar of the surf would drown out his sobs. Ignis finds him there eventually, kneels beside him and wraps his arms around his shoulders, face pressed into the back of his neck. He has never buried his face in Gladio's hair before. He's crying too.

Learning that Iris is alive and safe in Lestallum makes the grief easier to bear. With Noctis, in the days that follow, they mourn the king. Together, they grieve for Ignis's uncle, who never made it out of the city, for the Glaives, and for Gladio's father, who must have been by Regis's side at the bitter end. At least they died together.

 

LOADING

 

After Lestallum, the sun-baked meadows give way to thick forest, and weeks turn into months. Noctis seems in no hurry to reach Altissia, and they don't press him. "It's Noct's decision," Ignis says. Gladio doesn't say anything, because he's enjoying the meandering journey with a pleasure that verges on decadence. They hunt, and camp, and there are whole long days when they do nothing but laze around watching Noct fish.

Other days, Gladio remembers uneasily that Noctis is king now, and while time often passes slowly in the deep sun-dappled forests, it also seems, oddly, to be moving more quickly than it used to. Sometimes he can't hide his impatience as they burn daylight hours in idle side tasks. One particularly frustrating day, when Noctis won't stop complaining about the heat, he snaps, "Just take your shirt off."

"Like you? No way."

"What? Too embarrassed to show your scrawny body?"

"Hey, I got muscles," Noctis retorts. "You just can't see it." He turns his back with royal dignity, casting a fresh line. Prompto, always the peacemaker, launches into a story about the interesting frogs he'd noticed on the other side of the pond.

Ignis shoots Gladio a look and draws him aside with a subtle but unmistakable tilt of the head. They fade into the tree line, Prompto's voice still audible but faint.

"Why are you being so nasty to Noct?"

"I'm just teasing," he protests.

"You're not. You're being passive-aggressive, and it's unworthy of you. I shouldn't have to call you to manners, Gladio."

He drops to his knees in an instant, leaves crackling under his weight, familiar heat rising to his face. "Forgive me. I forgot myself."

Ignis's fingers curl into his hair, half caress, half threat. "It's been too long since I've taken you in hand."

"Please," Gladio whispers. He isn't sure whether he's asking for forgiveness or punishment.

"You'll help me with dinner tonight," Ignis decides. "Now go back out there and be kinder to Noctis. He has a long road ahead of him."

Gladio bows his head in acceptance. He's reluctant to move. It's so good, so right to be on his knees again.

That night, Noctis and Prompto bring armfuls of fish back to camp, beautiful freshwater trout that Gladio cleans patiently, one by one, with Ignis's wickedly sharp blades. He is utterly at peace in a way he has never been in the city. The light fades slowly from the sky, leaving a lingering bruised purple, and the campsite runes begin to glow, throwing up an otherworldly halo on the most mundane things: their folding chairs, the bag of groceries, his boots by the fire. As he finishes each fish, he pads barefoot across the stone to bring it to Ignis, who's breading the fillets at his work table.

"Good boy," Ignis says, softly, as he accepts the fish. Gladio dips his head as low as he can without catching undue attention. Their eyes meet in perfect understanding.

 

LOADING

 

It's his own fault. He begged for it, last night, after days of nothing more than significant glances and the occasional sharp word from Ignis to calm him. Finally, yielding, Ignis had dragged him out to the forest by his hair and brutally caned him, braced with his hands against a tree, a dishtowel shoved in his mouth to drown his cries.

The drive seems to last forever. Noctis is a less efficient driver than Ignis, prone to drifting along at low speeds during a distracting conversation. Gladio attempts to concentrate on his book, but after a while he gives up and stops trying to hide his squirming. Ignis sits primly next to him, a little smile playing on his lips. Perversely, the discomfort and Ignis's obvious amusement begin to have an inescapable effect. Gladio is grateful for the cold air on his flushed face. He tries not to let his breath get noticeably heavier. Ignis yawns, stretches, and deliberately brushes the back of his hand against Gladio's fly in passing.

Gladio can't help it; he _moans,_ then turns it into a very unconvincing cough. "You okay, dude?" Prompto asks.

"Fine," Gladio growls. He puts the book face-down on his lap. Ignis folds his hands and smiles.

"Why don't you take the side road, Noct? A little bumpy, but it should be a nice change of pace."

By the time they arrive, Gladio is shifting continually and clenching his teeth to keep silent. He practically leaps out of the car. "My ass is killing me," he announces to the forest. The boys run off ahead, chattering, not paying the slightest bit of attention. Ignis cuffs him lightly on the back of the head.

"Behave yourself."

"Me! Do you know how hard it was to stay quiet? Fuck, Iggy, I almost came in my pants."

"Behave, or you won't get to come at all," Ignis says, and strides off after them. Gladio follows, grinning. The forest smells delicious, damp dirt and leaves and ozone, and he is at Ignis's heels, where he belongs.

 

LOADING

 

"Let me do it."

"Do you know how to sew?"

"I think I can manage a button."

Ignis puts the shirt down, goes to his feet, and jerks Gladio's head up with a hand in his hair. He yelps in shock, his face red and his eyes angry and hurt.

"How dare you judge our prince?"

"But—"

Ignis shakes him, hard. "You were sitting here thinking that this is unfair, and ugly, and shameful."

"Yes!" Gladio winces. "Yes, and I'm sorry, but I can't help it. Why do you have to do his mending?"

Ignis lets him go, and returns to his chair, picking up the shirt again. "Listen to me carefully, Gladio. I'm a servant. There's no shame in it. Surely you should understand that."

Gladio wants to kneel, but they're out in the open, it would be too easy for the others to see. He sits straighter in the camping chair, puts his hands behind his back, lowers his head.

"You do not have the right to feel offended for me, or angry for me, or humiliated for me. That is my prerogative, and mine alone. My purpose now is to assist the prince in regaining his throne. Anything else is a distraction."

The words haunt him through the next days. He knows Ignis is right.

When they arrive at Cape Caem, he announces his decision. Noct looks confused, and defers to Ignis, who says, "A solo venture?" His tone is slightly mocking, not enough for anyone else to notice.

"Just a little hike to help me clear my head." Trust me, he pleads with his eyes. Understand what I'm doing, and why I need to.

He didn't ask Ignis before making the announcement. It's probably unforgivable. But he has no choice.

Gladio rejoins the group weeks later, and they make camp outside Lestallum. He crawls into the tent. Ignis is reading quietly by lamplight. He can't bring himself to speak; he drops his forehead with its fresh scar to Ignis's thigh and waits, accepting whatever he will receive.

"I understand," Ignis says, turning the page, and bringing one beautiful gloved hand down to stroke his head.

 

LOADING

 

It's disgustingly hot at the Vesperpool. Gladio restrains himself from making the same comment about the weather that he's made a hundred times. They trudge along, the air almost too muggy to breathe, their clothes sticky with sweat. And then the sky opens. Ignis gives up trying to wipe his glasses. "I can't see a thing," he complains.

There's supposed to be a haven around here somewhere, but they can't find it in the rain. Noctis and Prompto run ahead to scout it out, splashing through the saturated undergrowth. Gladio is mindful to keep them always within hearing range, but they aren't visible through the steady waves of rain. He slows down a little, deliberately. It's been so long.

"Give them to me," he says.

"Certainly not."

"You'll be able to see better."

"They'll get lost."

Daringly, Gladio reaches and plucks the glasses from Ignis's face. He knows he's courting danger, but Ignis just lifts an eyebrow, amused. Gladio tucks them in an inside pocket of his jacket. "See? Safe."

Ignis looks younger without his glasses, vulnerable. His thin sweater is clinging to the lines of his body, his nipples clearly visible, the fabric of his pants drenched and fitted to the curve of his hipbones. He throws a wicked glance at Gladio and bursts out laughing. "You're soaking wet. It's indecent."

"Look who's talking."

The rain comes down in a curtain. All the tiredness and prickly anxiety that's been hanging over them the last few days washes away. Ignis tosses back the mass of hair from his eyes and commands, "Come here and kiss me," leaning back against a tree, his hips cocked forward, demanding worship. Gladio slips his hands around Ignis's narrow waist and bows his head in obedience. He is weak with lust, helpless in the spell of Ignis's beauty.

 

LOADING

 

The blast sends bodies flying. Gladio takes cover behind a ruined wall, one arm protecting his face. The air shimmers with magic and shock waves from the concussive impact. When he moves his arm, he sees Ignis on the pavement.

He's lying at an unnatural angle, head twisted violently to one side, face soaked in blood. Gladio is at his side in moments, kneeling, saying, "Fuck, no, Iggy, please," as he searches for a pulse. Ignis's eyelids flutter and he coughs, a fine spray of blood that Gladio prays is coming from his mouth and not his lungs. He's crushing vial after vial, muttering under his breath in an endless stream of supplication to the Six, even as he knows it's useless, half of them are destroyed and gone anyway.

 

LOADING

 

"She gave her life so you could do your duty, not so you could sit around feeling sorry for yourself!"

"You don't think I know that?"

Gladio's heart is racing so fast he can barely breathe. In the adrenaline of his fury he can't feel his own body, he's detached, weightless. "You don't! Ignis took one for you too, and for what?"

"Enough, Gladio!"

The words alone aren't enough to call him back to himself. He strides away, his fists clenching, nails digging into his palms; the pain isn't enough either. He slams blindly through door after door, past row after row of seats, until he hits a wall between cars and pushes his face against the metal, panting, run to ground. He knows he's out of options. The train offers only two choices, forward or back. He turns around and returns the way he came, counting each step. This is his punishment. He deserves worse.

When he's back where he started from, he takes a deep breath and slides into the booth facing Ignis. His hands are still trembling with anger. He breathes slowly, counting each exhale, willing himself to be calm by sheer force alone.

Ignis turns his head from the window and reaches forward. Gladio wants to evade him, to hide the grotesque emotions racking his body, but he cannot bear to see those hands outstretched and adrift. He puts his hands in Ignis's.

"Oh, Gladio." If there had been pity in it, he would have walked away again. It's not pity, it's—amusement? "You still haven't learned that this isn't about you." Ignis strokes his shaking hands, kneading the tendons. Gladio allows himself one small, choked sob and then presses his lips tight.

 

LOADING

 

They make camp. They boil water and pour it over packaged noodles. The meal is flavorless. There is no conversation. Ignis stands, not eating, one hand on his cane, his face abstract and expressionless. Gladio's eyes can't stop going to where the cooking gear used to be stacked, when they still had a reason to carry it around, and he almost keens with pain. He shovels noodles into his mouth without tasting them.

Noctis stands abruptly, knocking over his untouched cup, and stumbles away from the fire into the dark. Prompto shoots an agonized glance between them and the retreating figure and then flees after him.

Gladio crushes his own cup. "He's a spoiled brat," he says savagely, sick with anger and helplessness, fully aware he's using Noctis as an easy target but unable to restrain himself. "Spoiled, selfish fucking brat. Why did we follow him? Why—"

Ignis swings at him.

Gladio watches, shocked, as the fist passes harmlessly, going wide, connecting with nothing but air. Then he moves swiftly from the chair to his knees, placing himself at Ignis's feet, and his anger is subsumed in remorse. His first instinct has always been to lash out. It's his greatest fault, he knows that, and in his better moments he's successful at guarding against it.

But in all the years he's known Ignis, he has never seen him lose his temper enough to lift his hand in violence. Calculated violence, yes. Not like this, in pain and frustration. And he provoked it. If Ignis has a fault, it's his need for absolute and perfect control over everything, including Gladio. He should be a support for Ignis. He should be _serving_ him. Instead he's making everything worse, and he doesn't know how to stop.

If Gladio had taken the wound, he would have borne it without complaint. That is his duty as Shield, and he wears it proudly. But the unfairness, the cruelty of giving it to Ignis, sharp-eyed Ignis, a civilian, a scholar who should never have been thrown into this hideous, hopeless war—

He can't take the wound from him, but he can take Ignis's anger, and he deserves it. He reaches up to grasp his hand and press it against his face. "I'm here," he says. "Hit me."

There's a pause, and then Ignis slaps him, hard, the impact belting his face to one side. Gladio absorbs the blow without making a sound. Ignis backhands him, and the knuckles catch his lower lip hard against his teeth. He swallows down a groan, rocking back on his heels, and then straightens his posture, tonguing away a drop of blood.

Ignis is staring into nothing, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling. Gently, Gladio reaches up and takes his hand again. He brings the palm to his cheek. "I'm here," he says.

He waits for another slap, but Ignis's hand doesn't move. He looks up. The light of the fire reflects off lines of tears running down the scarred face.

Pressing the gloved hand against his skin, careful not to break contact, Gladio stands. He pulls Ignis's face into his shoulder and wraps his arms around him tightly. At first, Ignis doesn't respond. His arms hang by his side. Then his cane clatters to the stone and he puts his arms around Gladio, pushing his wet face into the curve of his neck, and his whole body is shaking silently as Gladio holds him, murmuring nonsensical noises of comfort, with his lips buried in Ignis's beautiful hair.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks once again to [Sekiei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sekiei/pseuds/Sekiei/) for patient and thoughtful editing and advice <3


End file.
